


World of Ashes

by DaharMaster



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Eir Glanfath, Gen, History of Eora, War of Black Trees
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22223401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaharMaster/pseuds/DaharMaster
Summary: The peoples of the Aedyr Empire and the Dyrwood have again betrayed, exploited, and trespassed on the sacred sites of the tribes of Eir Glanfath, and they will not let these deeds go unpunished. However, in Admeth Hadret, perhaps even the great Galven Regd has met his match. Thus begins the War of Black Trees.This is the story not of that war, but of one person's role in it, and how it changed her. This is the tale of Rhemŵl, one of the Three-Tusk Stelgaer, and a brîshalgwin, or mind-hunter (later called a cipher). Just remember, no one won the War of Black Trees. No one.
Kudos: 1





	World of Ashes

It was a strange sight, snow falling on ash. Both steam and smoke still rose from the smoldering remains of the forest as frost met flame. Even despite the occasional distant crackle of a branch still burning and the hiss of embers being quenched by ice, it was eerily still and silent as the six Dyrwoodan soldiers traipsed through the ash.

Charred corpses, some only barely recognizable as kith, lay with the ash. Sometimes only the remains of a blackened hand, frozen forever in a spasm of agony, jutted out to mark the place of the fallen.

The soldiers were meticulous, however, and prodded each body in search of life. There was none to be found. They were alone amidst the dead, in that dead wood.

“Fuckin’ waste o’ time,” one muttered, kicking crumbling chunks of burnt wood off a scorched stump.

“Shut it, Aenald, we got orders,” another replied, kneeling to inspect what may have once been an elf.

Aenald wasn’t listening, however. His face turning red, eyes frenzied, he strode purposefully towards the stooped man. For a moment he paused and his face contorted before he let out an abrupt inhuman cry. The others turned in alarm just in time to see Aenald bury his axe in the other man’s back.

Even as the other man fell face first into the ash with an agonized wail, Aenald leaped back with a high pitched shriek, staring at the blood pouring from where his axe was still embedded in the man’s spine in horror.

“What the flamin’ fuck was that, Aenald?” one of the two halberdiers demanded in rage, grabbing the blanching soldier by the throat.

“I- I- I-... It weren’t…” Aenald stammered, unable to take his eyes off the snow still body from which his axe protruded, the haft seeming to point almost accusingly at him.

Then they all turned again as the other halberdier dropped his weapon and fell to his knees, armor clattering, seeming to clutch at his eyes as he bellowed wordlessly. From beneath his mailed hands flickered purple flames.

It was then that the ash at the center of their loose formation seemed to explode even as something black as night burst forth, flinging its lithe form at the swordsman of the group, bowling him over.

The man barely had time to grunt as he hit the ground before twin talons engulfed in violet fire tore out his throat. Blood spurting into the ash, the swordsman jerked once then fell still even as his assailant regained its feet and whirled to face the rest.

Though it was dark as charcoal, a faint ring of visible skin around piercing hazel eyes gave it a certain appearance of intelligence. The halberdier holding him dropped Aenald and charged the thing halberd held like a lance. With alarming speed, the creature spun, seeming to dance around the head of the weapon, its feet kicking up a cloud of ash. One foot lashed out, causing the halberdier to stumble and fall to one knee, then even with its eyes fixed on the remaining soldiers, it struck backwards, burying a soulflaying claw in the back of the man’s neck, just within the small gap between helm and armor.

With a seemingly mad half-laugh half-cry, the halberdier fell. Yet now enough ash had fallen off the creature for its form to finally resolve itself in the eyes of the remaining soldiers. That, however, did not make it less frightful.

The elven woman, her twin daggers burning almost blindingly bright with purple fire rushed them, a white glimmer of teeth in some mad predatory smile becoming visible on her ash-smeared face.

Ravens circled overhead, black as the burnt forest beneath them. A few more cries rang out, short and abrupt, then one ringing howl of agony that ended in sudden silence. Six dead Dyrwoodan soldiers lay in the ash with no sign of what had killed them.

A cold wind began to blow from the east, stirring up the ash, fanning the few remaining flames and blowing life into nearly dead embers. As it picked up, a cruel mocking voice could almost be heard on it.

“This is the price of your trespass,” it might have said.


End file.
